A Study In Alcohol
by plaguedbynargles
Summary: Jim Moriarty isn't himself when he's drunk. Makes more sense if you read my fic The Mighty Fall first (to explain housing situation). Sheriarty.


**Hey everyone. So this is going to just be a short little story, I'm not sure if it'll be multichapter or not. It really makes more sense if you read my story The Mighty Fall beforehand, as that explains the general living situation more. Sherlock/Moriarty and lovely fluff abounds. Inspired by a post on tumblr I saw. The development between Moriarty and John makes more sense if you read Mighty Fall also.**

Sherlock threw open the door to the flat, heart still pumping with excitement after finishing his last case. Who would have known it would be the _flower girl_? He did love the especially strange cases. It was always more fun when the subject was a little bit cracked.

Speaking of cracked, he wondered what James had been up to while he was gone. Hopefully he hadn't touched the detective's experiments, or tried to 'fix' them. God, he hated the cases where he had to leave him behind, but sometimes it just had to be that way. The detective took off his coat and scarf, hanging them on the hook by the door, and strode towards the kitchen. He didn't make it very far, however, before he was hit with a 5'8 wall of Moriarty. His nostrils were instantly hit with the smell of alcohol.

"Sherly!" James cried as he threw his arms around the detective's neck, hugging him tightly.

"James, hello," Sherlock struggled to release himself from the criminal's grip. He hadn't known James to be a drinker…

"I missed you," James said into Sherlock's chest, his voice muffled.

"Yes, I return the sentiment," Sherlock said hastily, wanting to get back to his experiments, "Have you been drinking?"

James pulled away to look at the detective, positively beaming at him, "Maybe…" he said sheepishly, "I got bored," A high pitched giggle escaped him after the last statement.

"Yes, you tend to do that," Sherlock tried to make his way past still chuckling James into the kitchen, only to have the criminal throw his arms around him from behind.

"Sherly, you aren't _mad_, are you?" James asked into the back of Sherlock's shirt.

"I'm going to be 'mad' if I can't get to my experiments soon."

"Aww, don't do that!" James half walked, half swung around Sherlock so he was face to face with the detective, keeping his arms around him the whole time.

"Mwah," he gave Sherlock a quick peck on the lips, grinning when he pulled away, "Do you forgive me?" James gave the detective his best puppy dog face.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Yes, you're forgiven; now I need to work on these-"

James finally released him, "Oh! Can I watch?" he asked wide eyed.

The detective rolled his eyes again, "Yes, you may watch."

"Oh, goody!" the criminal was buzzing with childlike joy as he followed Sherlock into the kitchen, where the detective's eyes were already raking over the chemicals he had laid out.

"Hey, Sherlock, maybe next time remember not to _leave the scene_ _without me_?" A tired John Watson entered the flat, only halfheartedly harassing the detective. He knew Sherlock would never change. "Or at least telling me where the hell we are in London would help."

"James is drunk," Sherlock called from the kitchen, ignoring John's previous statement completely.

"Sorry, he's what?" John stalked into the kitchen with narrowed eyes, not sure if he'd heard the detective correctly. When he saw that James was clinging to Sherlock's arm as a child would a favorite stuffed animal, however, he figured it out for himself.

"No no no… I… I am not drunk," James slurred, dissolving into another fit of giggles.

"Oh my God," John shook his head in disbelief, "Sherlock, how did this happen?"

"I-" Sherlock stopped when James put a finger to his lips, effectively quieting him and making him go slightly cross eyed as he studied it, still not believing that Moriarty was really acting like this.

"Shhh… shhh…sh…sh. I'll tell him the story, Sherly," James said, still clinging to the helpless detective. John could only watch mouth agape at the criminal's so out of character behavior.

"I was bored-" James began, laughter bubbling up in his stomach again, "And-" He buried his face in Sherlock's sleeve again, his form shaking with hysterical laughter.

John watched as Sherlock helplessly stood rooted to the ground, not sure what to do. One arm held a small vial of purple acid, and the other was completely immobilized by James.

"…Is this really happening?" John asked, more to himself than to Sherlock. He had to admit, if he didn't hate James so much, he would have thought it adorable how affectionate he was being.

"Yes, apparently."

"We should get this on video."

That caught James's attention. He stumbled over to John, who winced when the criminal put a hand on his arm. He and James usually made a point to stay at least 6 feet away from each other at all times, so it was strange suddenly having the Irish man's hand grasping his arm as though they were old friends.

"No no no no no," the criminal slurred, shaking a finger in John's face, "No don't… don't do that."

John couldn't stop himself from cracking a small smile, "And why not?"

"Be_cause_," James began, and then looked extremely confused, pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts, "Because I said so. And I _don't like you_." He feebly pushed John away, stumbling back to Sherlock, who rolled his eyes as the criminal threw his arms around him again.

"You're so _cute_ when you do that!" James gave Sherlock a playful shove, earning him a sideways glance from the detective.

"When I do what?" Sherlock sighed.

"When you act all high and mighty. It's kind of _hot_, Sherlo… Sherl…Sherlock," James beamed when he finally stopped stumbling over the detective's name. John grinned mischievously as a blush crept onto Sherlock's normally placid features.

"You know what else is nice about you?" James looked up at the detective and batted his eyelashes. Sherlock closed his eyes in resignation.

"Your _hair_. It's so _soft_ and _curly_, Sherly," James had another mini giggle fit as he twisted a strand of the detective's hair around his finger, "Soft and curly Sherly…. Soft and curly _surely_…"

"Yeah, I'm going to get the camera, Sherlock," John started towards his room, up the stairs.

"JOHN, NO!" Sherlock called after him, beginning to chase him down, but bumping into James on the way. The criminal this time threw both of his arms around the unprepared detective, pinning his own arms to his sides.

Sherlock sighed in resignation as John came back down the stairs with the camera rolling.

"How much did you even drink?" he snapped at James, losing patience. He glared at John as he asked it.

"Just a little…"

"You mean, _a lot_, don't you James?" John cheekily suggested, still smiling.

"Shut up, Carl," James's muffled voice came from Sherlock's shirt.

"Carl-?" John started to ask, but a look from Sherlock shut him up. The detective mouthed, "Carl Powers" at him, and realization struck the doctor. He lowered the video camera, deciding that a description of the scene would be enough humiliation to James.

James gazed up at Sherlock with wide eyes, "You're so _pretty_, Sherlock. How… how do you _do _that?"

Sherlock huffed, embarrassed, "Nothing that can't be explained tomorrow. James, why don't you-"

"And your _eyes_. It's like… I don't _know_, Sherlock," James said, voice filled with wonder, "They _change colors_. They're so lovely I could look at them all day."

Sherlock finally managed to free himself from the criminal's grasp, and he held one of James's hands in each of his. He stared the grinning criminal straight in the eyes.

"James, you need to go to sleep."

Moriarty without warning kissed the detective full on the lips, standing on his toes so that he was the appropriate height. The criminal was the only one in the room not tomato red, as Sherlock felt John's eyes boring into him and John tried hard not to watch the scene in front of him.

Finally, James pulled away from Sherlock, starting to giggle again, "Only… only if you carry me there," he slurred with mischievous eyes.

Sherlock stared at him a moment, attempting to assess how likely it was that James would go to bed _without_ being carried, but was interrupted when the criminal wrapped his arms around his neck and _leaped _into the detective's arms. Sherlock, caught completely off guard, barely managed to catch him before he hit the floor.

Now being held in Sherlock's arms bridal style, James looked up at the detective and grinned, nuzzling into his neck and starting to giggle again. Sherlock this time could feel every single shake of laughter that went through the criminal's body, and he couldn't resist a small smirk as he carried James to their shared room.

James rolled over with a moan. He was in agony. Utter _agony_. His stomach was churning, the room was spinning, and his head pounded as though there was a large tribal drum being beaten inside of his skull. The knock at his door almost sent him over the edge, as the sound echoed in his pounding head and didn't help with keeping his stomach at ease. He only groaned in response.

He looked across the room to see that Sherlock had entered without needing an invitation. That was so _like_ him. God, did no one have any concept of manners anymore? James glared at the detective grumpily.

"Do you remember anything?" Sherlock asked. For reasons unfathomable to James, he seemed to be fighting back a smirk.

"I think I can _deduce_ this one on my own, Sherlock," James sneered, rolling over and putting a pillow on his head.

"Well, obviously you were drunk, but do you remember anything specific about it?" Sherlock's voice echoed in James's skull.

"Oh, _God_, what did I do?" his muffled voice moaned from beneath his pillow.

"Nothing much," Sherlock said smugly, sitting down beside James on the bed, "You're quite…affectionate when you're drunk, you know."

"Oh, _God_," James wailed. He couldn't remember a single thing from the previous night. For all he knew he could have assassinated the queen.

"No, no, don't worry about it too much," Sherlock smirked, "You told me I was pretty, hugged me a lot, said you liked my hair…"

"_Stop talking_," James mumbled. Every word out of Sherlock's mouth was bouncing around his skull like a bullet gone haywire.

"It was rather cute," Sherlock added affectionately, rubbing James on the back.

"I hope you enjoyed it because it's _never happening again_."

"Pity. I quite liked the way you described my hair…"

"_Get out_."

"If you insist," Sherlock jumped up off the bed and started towards the door.

"I'd like to see _you_ drunk, Sherlock Holmes!" James halfheartedly called after him. At this point, he was content to just wallow in misery alone for the rest of the day.

"Um, James?" a soft voice said from the door. It was far too unsure, far too nervous to be Sherlock's.

James quickly rolled onto his side, pillow off of his head, to face John.

"What do you want?" he asked defensively.

"How are you feeling?" John offered. He was still getting used to speaking to Moriarty as though he was a human.

James stared in disbelief a moment before answering, "Terrific," he snapped.

John chose to ignore the insult. Hangovers weren't fun for anyone, especially when you were used to having such a clear mind. He felt a little bit sorry for James. He doubted the amount or quality of support Sherlock would offer his partner in a situation like this.

"Well, I brought you toast. It's a little trick to help you feel better quicker. I think if you burn it it helps even more, but I didn't want to-" He noticed James's incredulous facial expression at this point, and found his voice had left him.

"Is this some kind of a joke?" Moriarty asked in disbelief, looking from John to the plate in his hand and back again.

"Well I know Sherlock brought you water, but this will honestly-"

"Tell the truth."

"…Call it a peace offering," John said, resigned. He put the plate down on the nightstand by the bed. "Look, if you don't want it, fine. But in case you want it later…" Seeing James's still confused expression, he turned to leave.

"John," James called after him, and the doctor turned around.

"Yeah?"

"How bad was it?" James winced.

"Ah- Well, you were… very… affectionate…"

"Oh, God, Sherlock said that, too."

"It's not horrible. That's better than most people can say about when they were drunk. And it was rather funny. I almost took a video-"

"You WHAT?" James shot up into a sitting position, jostling his stomach and forcing him to close his eyes for a few seconds to get his bearings.

"No, James, don't worry. I stopped and deleted it after-" John froze.

"After what?" James challenged. His gaze was icy.

"You, erm… you called me Carl…"

James stared at him blankly for a moment, before gingerly laying back down on his side, his back to John this time.

"I'm not Carl Powers, James."

Silence. John only stood there, waiting for a response.

"Good night, John."

It was 11 am, but John understood the meaning of the dismissal. With a sigh, he walked out of the room and closed the door as quietly as he could, feeling completely helpless.

Maybe another day.

**A/N: What did you all think? I don't know if I'll continue this. But R&R regardless to let me know what you thought! Reviews make writers quite happy.**


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